Classic Poem

Oh tell me, will I ever win to Ireland again,
Astore! from the far North-West?
Have we given all the rainbows, an' green woods an' rain,
For the suns an' the snows o' the West?
" Them that goes to Ireland must thravel night an' day,
An' them that goes to Ireland must sail across the say,
For the len'th of here to Ireland is half the world away —
An' you'll lave your heart behind you in the West.
Set your face for Ireland,
Kiss your friends in Ireland,
But lave your heart behind you in the West. "

On a dim an' shiny mornin' the ship she comes to land,
Early, oh, early in the mornin',
The silver wathers o' the Foyle go slidin' to the strand,
Whisperin', " Ye're welcome in the mornin'. "
There's darkness on the holy hills I know are close aroun',
But the stars are shinin' up the sky, the stars are shinin' down,
They make a golden cross above, they make a golden crown,
An' meself could tell ye why, — in the mornin'.
Sure an' this is Ireland,
Thank God for Ireland!
I'm comin' back to Ireland the mornin'.